


Fealty

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 06:28:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6842812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment with Finrod after Barahir’s saved him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fealty

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Drabble for this week’s [silmread](http://silmread.tumblr.com/). I wrote it on my phone at the mall; you have been warned.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Silmarillion or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

“You should not have come,” he sighs, not for the first time. Barahir says nothing in response. Once, he might’ve smiled at the show of concern from his great Elven king, but now he has bigger worries. He wipes some of the blood off Finrod’s chin with a wet cloth and marvels at how close the colour is to his own.

Better physicians will see Finrod, either when he sleeps or when Barahir can convince him to stop being so foolish, but for now, he insists he’s fine and will permit no one else to see him. The bed he sits on is not his own, and the sparse guest chambers don’t do him justice. Barahir alone shares his seat and attends to him, cleaning all his many cuts and bruises.

Barahir got there in time. He can still hardly believe it, and he’s still wildly grateful. When he finishes gently padding the smeared red off Finrod’s cheek, Finrod looks again as beautiful as always, radiant and pure. His mouth is in a quiet frown and his eyes betray his sadness, but his body is no less handsome for it. When Barahir’s finished cleaning Finrod’s collar bone and the delicate curve of his shoulders, loose undershirt pulled open around them, Barahir diverts instead to carefully unwinding the many tangles in Finrod’s white-gold hair.

They sit like that for some time, the battle and losses heavy on their hearts. Barahir finds much relief in this. He finger-combs Finrod’s silken locks, then divides them into three sections and begins to braid them over Finrod’s shoulder. Even with Finrod so strangely subdued as this, fragile and mortal-seeming with his crown aside, Barahir can’t regret his choice. He regrets those he lost in charging to Finrod’s rescue, but it was worth it to have this wondrous creature in his presence again. He knows if he had it all to do again, he would do the exact same thing. This world is a better place with Finrod Felagund in it.

As Barahir finishes the braid, twisting the end around his finger to tie, Finrod finally moves. His delicate hand lifts to cup Barahir’s cheek, the warmth and softness of Finrod’s skin as rapturous as always. Barahir fights to restrain his gasp and the little moan that almost spills out—he’s a married man, and this is his king.

Finrod murmurs, in a voice like a song, “Please, do not endanger yourself like that again. You are too precious to me, and I already grieve that I must lose you some day. Do not bring that about before its time.”

It’s too intimate for a royal order. Finrod then leans across the tiny space between them to press a chaste kiss to Barahir’s forehead that spreads guilty delight through his whole body. Finrod is taller, fairer, and leans over him for a moment longer than Barahir can stand.

When Finrod retracts, he locks eyes with Barahir. Barahir is breathless and knows that, for the first time since their meeting, he can’t obey. He would ride to the end of these shores for this Valar-like being, and he would give his very life for Finrod, and even sail past, straight across the sea.


End file.
